


Being Human

by RaytheFae



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Family, M/M, On Hiatus, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Canon, apocalypse fixed, no beta we die like archive assistants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaytheFae/pseuds/RaytheFae
Summary: The apocalypse was defeated, but the new old world is no Utopia. Jon and Martin struggle with being parents in an increasingly dangerous world, full of empowered cultists and avatars. Meanwhile, their daughter deals with being a teenager and a deep unsettling feeling that there’s more to herself than her parents are letting on.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	1. Prologue

###  Prologue 

The air was acrid and musty around the ruins of the abandoned warehouse. All that stood was part of a roof and metal beams.

Martin, Basira, and Daisy, with Jon leading the way, stepped through the rubble. There were bodies, and a lot of them, so they had to be quick in their investigation. The police would be there soon, the implosion of the huge building wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. 

“Seems like someone else took care of the problem before us.” Daisy said with a huff. 

“There could be survivors.” Basira said. She kept a hand hovering near the knife she brought for protection on her hip. “Jon, still having trouble Seeing?” 

“It’s getting clearer.” He answered, scanning the wreckage. “ I think...this could have been part of the Nameless Troupe’s plan. But what they did here is obscuring my Sight.” 

“Right. Don’t overuse.” Basira reminded him. Jon nodded gravely. “All right, Daisy and I will get to searching the rubble for survivors. Jon, take a break from your Looking. Martin…?”

“I’ll stay with Jon.” Martin said. The two women left to begin their search. 

He took a large thermos out of his satchel and handed it to Jon, who took it gladly. “Thank you, Martin.” The tea Martin had brought worked wonders for his headaches. He wasn’t the all powerful avatar he’s been during the apocalypse, he had to deal with mortal concerns a bit more now. It was both annoying, and a great relief. 

Just as he took a sip, Jon felt a presence, and noticed movement nearby. Martin saw it too, standing at stiff attention. 

There was a soft sound, breathing? No...sobbing. High pitched but quiet. Jon wanted to Know immediately what it was, but held back, not wanting to worsen his headache. 

“Hello…?” Martin called out. 

More movement. Just ahead of them, a small shape, emerging from behind a large piece of concrete. 

A child. Three, maybe four years old, with long dark brown hair, wearing a brightly colored dancers outfit, now stained with long dried blood. 

“Oh my god!” Martin stood up to approach and comfort the child. She gasped and stepped backwards. Afraid, but she wasn’t looking at Martin. 

She was staring at Jon with wide eyes, like a deer before headlights. 

Jon grabbed Martin’s arm, his own eyes wide, face set, expression stoney. 

“Wait.”

“Jon, that’s a child, she isn’t-” 

“She...is a child. But she’s also…” Jon had the information. He Knew it was true, and yet...it was too cruel to believe that someone would do this to their own offspring. 

**“Stop it!”** The little girl cried out. The area around the three shook with power, and the dust and small bits of rubble blew aside. **“Stop Looking at me!”**

At that exclamation, a wave of utter confusion hit both Jon and Martin. The world around them seemed to warp and change, and in waves it seemed that nothing made sense. Jon cried out in pain and put his hands to his eyes, reeling from the effects. He reached out, trying to keep a hold on Martin. He couldn’t See, and so he couldn’t protect…!

Martin grimaced, but managed to stand his ground. Between the waves of power that threw his mind into confusion, he knew he was dealing with a child. A very scared, very traumatized, child. So, he started to walk towards her, each step confusing and felt like he was falling in place, until he was right in front of her. 

She backed away, tears streaming down her face. A face that Martin couldn’t quite look at straight on, without feeling nauseous.  
But he knelt down and grabbed the child in a gentle hug. 

“Shh. It's okay, it's okay, we’re here to help.” He said. He rubbed small circles in a calming motion on her back. 

The little girl was trembling with fear, but the dark power rippling off of her softened, and soon, the waves of confusion were gone. 

Jon stood and approached. Slowly. If this child truly was...well, she had good reason to fear him, the antithesis of herself. She watched Jon, unblinking, until he too was kneeling down next to her. 

“Who are you? What’s your name?” Jon asked, biting back compulsion. If she didn’t like being Seen, compulsion would definitely be worse. 

“I don’t know...I don’t have one.” She said with a sniffle. “ I’m only just...I don’t know anything, it’s all new and it hurts…” 

“Where does it hurt?” Martin asked. He let her go and looked her up and down. No obvious injury at least. 

She shook her head. “Everywhere, I haven’t been...I wasn’t...I can’t say it right” she hiccuped.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Martin kept his hands on her. It seemed to be grounding the child, keeping her calm. “Were...your parents, here?” 

“I don’t know. I can’t remember anything before the light.” She said.It was easier to look at her now. An absolutely normal looking little girl. Maybe a bit too normal. “I’m so tired.” 

Martin held out his arms. The girl let Martin pick her up. She laid her head on his shoulder, eyelids drooping and heavy. She was so tired.

Soon she was out like a light. Martin looked at Jon, wide eyed.

Basira and Daisy ran back over. 

“How the hell did you manage to -“ Daisy started. 

“Sh!” Martin shushed her. Daisy saw the kid and continued in a whisper. 

“A survivor...but where was all that...power, coming from?” She asked. They’d felt it clear to the perimeter of the ruined warehouse.

“The girl.” Jon said solemnly. 

“What?” Basira said, brow furrowed. 

“It...I’m having to just, deduce. I can’t See well when it comes to the Stranger. But I think this ritual wasn’t just to increase their influence, they...infused this girl with the power of their patron.” Jon said. His lips were taut in a thin line, jaw set. How anyone could do this, force such a thing upon a child. It was revolting. “She’s likely the child of one of these deceased cultists, given her attire.” 

“Did she talk at all? Name, what happened here, anything we can go off of.” Basira said, turning her attention to Martin. 

Martin shook his head. “She doesn’t seem to remember anything before the building was destroyed.”

“Likely a side effect of being made into an avatar for the Stranger. Though...She’s not completely...become.” Jon sighed.. He was sure there was humanity in her still. A gut instinct, instead of Sight, the Eye seemed quiet on that. Perhaps it was too subjective. “ if I had to guess, it’s likely impossible to fully become without choosing the path yourself-“

Sirens in the distance cut him off. 

“We can’t leave her here. She could... freak out again, they might hurt her!” Martin said, holding the girl in his arms just a little bit tighter. 

“I agree. You two, take her back to your home.” Basira said, and continued before Jon could argue. “You live in the middle of nowhere, Daisy and I live in a flat.” 

Jon nodded, acquiescing. He didn’t think he’d be able to convince Martin anyways. 

—  
They all parted ways quickly. Martin could hear the sirens blaring as Jon drove them down backroads, Knowing where to go to avoid being seen, and soon they were on the road proper again. 

Martin was still holding onto the little girl, who was still sound asleep. 

“So...she’s like Anges, you think?” Martin asked quietly. 

“Maybe. Yes? Somewhat. Agnes was infused with the Desolation since birth. She never had a chance to really be human.” Jon said. 

“What about her, then?” 

Jon chewed on his bottom lip in thought as he drove down the highway. The world turned to purple and darkness around them in the twilight hours between night and day. 

“I think.” Jon finally said. “ If we..treat her like a human, we could weaken her connections to the Stranger over time. I don’t Know this. It..wouldn’t be safe for me to delve too deep into the secrets of The Stranger. It’s just...what feels right.” 

“Oh.” Martin nodded. “ I guess it makes a kind of sense.” 

The ride went quiet. Martin listened to the steady breathing of the girl in his arms,and her fast beating heart. He patted her back gingerly. 

He could help her. He knew he could, and in no time at all, she’d be human again. A happy child free of the complications and terror the Fears left wherever they touched. 

The little girl dreamed of dancing, of singing a wonderful, horrible song, a white light, screaming, thundering noises, a terrific pain...and then someone warm, and of safety, and of a silence from the song.  
She smiled.


	2. Hazel Blackwood-Sims

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charity Shops and a chat with Dad

### Hazel Blackwood-Sims

Hazel Blackwood-Sims was a common sight around town in Foxden. An odd little girl, daughter of the nice gay couple who lived on the outskirts. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, though she was a bit short for her age, so she could be mistaken for as young as twelve, even though she was nearly sixteen.

She burst out of the doors of the local charity shop, grinning like a cheshire cat that had caught a mouse. 

“See you next week Mr. Finney!” She called back loudly. The older man inside looked concerned, as usual, but simply waved and sighed. What an odd child. Her purchases seemed to be weirder every week. At least someone got good use out of the odder things his shop would get saddled with. 

Hazel jogged down the sidewalk, her large paint-splattered backpack jangling with charms and trinkets all made of plastic and glue and put together herself, the largest being an eyeless dolls head painted like a day of the dead sugar skull. Her long brown hair done up in a messy ponytail whipped against the fretboard of the brightly colored ukulele sticking out of her backpack and sent discordant notes spinning out of her wake as she jogged along. 

It was Saturday, and only two weeks before school began again, though Hazel barely minded the latter information. She was homeschooled, after all. But Saturdays were the best, that was when the Foxden Charity Shop was restocked from its donations from the previous week. In each hand she had a large shopping bag that jostled with her well gotten gains. 

She jogged nearly the whole way home. The teen stopped at the large poorly made statue of some soldier from the 1800s to rest, and to stare at its awful, awful face. It was one of her favorite spots in the entire village. 

The eyes were too close together, the nose too high up, the mouth too low, it was shoddy work, not enough to be ridiculous, but enough to make you shake your head and laugh, or maybe think it was haunted, or just be creeped out.

Hazel thought it was all three and she loved it. It genuinely made her feel on edge in a way she really enjoyed. Was that weird? Well, her Dads said she shouldn’t worry about whether or not she was weird, just enjoy being her “authentic human self”. 

She checked to make sure no one was watching her, then let down one bag, stood up on her tiptoes and patted the cheek of the unknown uncanny soldier.

“Still keeping watch? No one appreciates you like they ought to, my handsome boy.” She said, then laughed at her own silliness, and picked up her bag again. 

Just as she turned to leave, she swore she saw it move. A turning of its great green coppery head towards her. Her breath caught in her chest as fear froze her in place, eyes wide. She paused mid turn, staring at the statue. It didn’t move again. It was in the same place as ever, coppery green and splattered with pigeon waste.

Hazel laughed, nervous at first, a bit too loudly. She shook her head. A trick of the light, no doubt. She’d watched that Doctor Who episode a few days ago about the statues and now it was getting to her head. 

By the time she got home she completely forgot about it. 

Hazel loved her home. It was a warm and inviting cabin, with a great big garden, all tucked away behind trees, where she lived with her precious fathers. Oh, she couldn’t wait to show them her haul and her plans with said haul. She was the next great michelangelo, but with forgotten useless toys and trinkets and plastic and hot glue and fabric paint instead of oils and musty church ceilings. 

She skipped up to the front door, then realized she’d have to set down her bags just to open it. Before she could start setting one down, the door opened. 

Dad Jon, or usually just Dad, depending if she needed to differentiate, was already there. He was wearing a large apron. “I could hear you coming a mile away you know.” 

“I don’t know anything, I’m clueless and it makes me very cute.” She said mischievously, pushing her way inside impatiently. It wasn’t hard to get past him, he was only a few inches taller than her these days. “Anyways come on and see what I got! I’ve got plans!” 

“I’m sure you do.” He said with a fond sigh. 

Hazel knew Dad Jon wasn’t the biggest fan of her art, but he was a great supporter of her work, even if he didn’t “get” it. It was nice that he paid attention. 

Though it was also nice to see him get skeeved out by the weird things she could come up with. Any reaction to art was a good reaction, she thought, as she poured out the contents on the living room table, but if she was being honest her favorite reaction was definitely creeping out her Dad Jon and anyone else she could cajole into trying to understand her works, though occasionally someone genuinely got what she was going for, and that was nice.

“Oh, those are...cute.” Jon said. He gestured to the three retro Furbies. 

“Thanks! I’m going to skin them.” Hazel said. 

Jon closed his eyes and suppressed a shiver. Hazel tried not to smile more than she already was. It was just too easy sometimes to get to him, though he was probably just hamming it up for her. Her talking about skinning some toys wouldn't actually get to him. 

“It's part of the cleaning process actually, there’s like, a whole community for restoring these things. I’m going to sell one of them, and the other two I’m going to make into a two headed long furby with uh…” She dug around her haul and picked up a bag of small plastic hands. “I’m going to paint these and glue them on, so it’ll be like a double headed caterpillar, but with human hands.” 

“That’s certainly creative,” he said. “I see lots of doll heads this week.”

“Oh yeah, these came pre decapitated, I figure I’ll make more charms with them. Maybe put a few in jars and preserve them in Resin.”

“You’ve been making a lot of doll heads in resin lately, don’t get in a rut.” Jon said with a smile. Hazel paused. Her dad’s tone was very...casual. 

She looked over at him and squinted. 

“You’re sounding very unperturbed.” She said.

“Well, you’ve been at this arts and crafts phase for nearly a year now.” Jon said. “I think I’ve gotten used to your...tastes.” 

“Hm.” Hazel said. She grinned, picking up a little clown doll with an eerie porcelain face and soft body. “I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

“Good lord.” Jon sighed, reaching over and fluffing his daughter's hair. “It does seem that is what you are going for, creeping me out. Is that what it's all about? Is that the goal of art these days?” Jon said in a fake scolding tone. Though he spoke his words slowly and carefully. 

Hazel wondered if he had an aversion to asking questions sometimes, he always asked things in such a slow way, but she was hardly curious enough to ask him why. It's not like she had to know everything, and it wasn’t her business.

“C’mon dad, your reactions are just completely hysterical.” She giggled. She took out her ponytail and let her long hair flow down around her. “Anyways, even if you didn’t care at all I’d still make them. It's just...fun. To make stuff out of garbage. Well the furbies aren’t garbage.” She corrected herself. “ But it's nice to make trash into treasure, even if it's not treasure “to your taste”.” She added, mocking lightly. 

“I’m glad you have such a healthy outlet for all your…” Jon paused, thinking of the right words. “Creative impulses.” 

“Thanks, I guess.” She said with a snort. She started cleaning up quickly, shoving all her goods back into the bag. “I’m going to go put this stuff in my room.”

Jon held up a hand. “Hey. Remember what I talked about?”

She sighed. “Yes, yes, I’m going to use the filing system and the cabinets you got me for all my junk, properly.” She groaned.” it's so booooring to have to sort through all my stuff and put it away neatly.”

“Really? I never would have known. You’ve never brought it up before.” Jon said with a wry grin. “Now go along, and quickly, lunch will be ready soon and your father will be home soon from the post office.”

“Oh, is he bringing spooky stories with him today from your old work? Can I listen in again? Uh...with permission, this time” She asked bashfully.

“Absolutely not.” Jon answered a bit quicker and snappish than he meant to, and continued a bit gentler “I...those are extremely intense. You only caught the ending of one of them.”

“Yeah, I guess. But they’re only stories. Like a horror film, it’s not real.” Hazel said. 

“You’re stalling from having to clean up the workspace in your room.” Jon said.

Hazel sighed dramatically. Once there was an abrupt subject change, that was the end of the matter, and she wasn’t going to spoil her nice day with a row over this. 

“You caught me. I’ll be back out in a second!” She said, disappearing off into her room. 

Jon watched her door close and let out a long breath. He hated keeping the truth from her, but her ties to the Stranger were weakening a little more every year. It was easy to track not from Knowing, but by how bothered she was to be in the house when he read statements. When the Watchers gaze was its strongest. 

When she’d first arrived she couldn’t handle it, Jon had had to read outside. Now she was attempting to eavesdrop on him. 

They couldn’t risk her knowledge of the Fears awakening the ties within her. Not when she’d come so far. It’d been years since she last performed any supernatural feats. Even when she became angry, these days, he felt little to no power from her, just normal, human emotion.

Jon returned to the kitchen to finish cooking their lunch. He felt cautiously optimistic. Maybe Martin’s latest suggestion would be the final push needed to completely severe their daughters ties to the evil power that claimed her so long ago. 

He nodded to himself as he finished stirring the soup and got out a ladle. 

Yes. Perhaps public schooling would be best for Hazel, they’d have to talk it over soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here she is!

**Author's Note:**

> Very excited for this one. Comments are appreciated!!


End file.
